by Shen Shixi
The two snow foxes were following her because they could see her shrunken belly, the skin hanging from her bones and how she staggered as she walked. They knew she was so hungry she was on the verge of collapsing or fainting. If she could just eat something, find some food to fill her belly, make her belly bulge again, then the two snow foxes would see this cold, hungry jackal transform into a well-fed creature, and might change their minds and walk away.
Of course, Flame was not going to find anything to eat in the snow, but maybe she could make the foxes think she had. And who cared about the truth? All’s fair in love and war! She had to beat her enemy and win victory.
Flame turned and went into a small wood. With branches blocking the view, and the light dim in the forest, it was the perfect setting for her performance. As she headed over to the foot of the tree, her eyes lit up, she cried out in excitement, and then threw herself into the task. She was pretending she had accidentally discovered some food. She knew that the snow foxes would be watching her.
Flame rushed at the tree trunk, and with a good deal of fake wrestling and gnashing of teeth, frantically gathered together a pile of snow, as though her reward for all this trouble would be snatched from her by another wild animal. She tore through it with her teeth, chewed it round in her mouth, and gulped it down, as though relishing every mouthful. Her actions were utterly convincing.
She would show them that her luck had changed, that the half-starved jackal had found itself a rich lunch, and was getting carried away with the excitement. Flame really was chewing and swallowing, though it was not meat in her mouth, but snow. Her teeth were numbed by the cold, and her tongue was so frozen she could no longer feel it. After swallowing all that snow, her belly was like a freezer, shivering and shuddering. In all these years, she had never eaten snow before; it tasted of nothing, and it was unpleasant to eat.
But it was irrelevant whether she liked it or not, she had to steel herself and eat. There was nothing else to eat, except earth, leaves or stones, none of which a jackal can swallow. No matter how painful and difficult it was eating the snow, she had to pretend it was the most delicious thing imaginable.
As she ate, she kept an eye on the snow foxes. They had followed her into the forest, and were sitting twenty to thirty metres from her now, looking at each other in despair and dejection. Ha, thought Flame, now they’ve seen me eating, they are not so sure about hunting after me!
As the snow slipped into her belly, her natural body temperature set to work melting it down. It felt as though she had been thrown into a river, and had swallowed so much water that she was about to drown. Her belly had swelled up as round as a football. But a belly full of water feels completely different from a belly full of meat. It feels like a river surging towards the sea, uncontrollably.
But the mind is not satisfied; the physical sensation in the stomach does nothing at all to reduce the hunger. A belly full of meat feels calm and solid; the mind feels steady and secure. The rich taste lingers in the mouth and the occasional belches are reminders of the heady aroma. The contented body longs to stretch out and enjoy the moment. Although Flame found it very unpleasant to eat snow, she had to pretend to eat her fill, then sit comfortably on her heels below the tree while she casually licked clean the corners of her mouth and her paws.
The two snow foxes were still at the edge of the forest, pacing up and down, observing from a distance with a fox’s suspicion. Feigning fullness, Flame thrust her swollen belly forward, and staggered lethargically towards the snow foxes, stopping now and again to release a burp. Counter-attack is the best strategy in war. Flame watched as the foxes stared at her belly, following its round contours with their eyes, until they were convinced that she really had found food and had eaten her fill. If this was the case, then it would be pointless, and ludicrous, for them to pursue her any longer. They lowered their heads, uttered a few mournful groans, turned round and ran off.
Flame had used a jackal’s wisdom to manoeuvre her way skilfully out of a critical situation. She watched as the snow foxes ran into the distance, before dropping to the ground, unable to move. She was so hungry that her body could not produce any heat; she could feel the cold in her bones. She had swallowed so much snow that it had extinguished whatever heat her body had. It felt as though her belly and legs were already turning to ice. Her head was spinning, her gut was going into spasm, the pain was cutting her like a knife.
She opened her mouth to groan, and out spewed a few jets of clear water. She was leaking at the other end too. It was all liquid. At first it was clear water; later there were threads of blood in the water. It felt as though every organ in her body was trying to empty itself out. Her swollen belly shrivelled up again, even worse than before, as though she had some terrible disease. She had no strength at all, her body was weak with exhaustion. Her eyelids were heavy, she wanted to lie down and sleep, but she was worried the snow foxes might return, so the best thing was to prop herself up, take a couple of steps and rest, then another couple of steps and rest, all the way home to Buddha Belly Cave.
She was halfway along a mountain ridge when it began to snow again. With snow pervading the dusk, Flame felt even more despondent. She really couldn’t walk any further, and leant against a tree to catch her breath and shelter from the wind.
Suddenly from above her head came the shrill caw of a crow, then something fell from the tree and plopped into the snow. Talk about one door shutting and another one opening! To Flame’s surprise it was a young crow, whose feathers were not yet fully formed. She was overjoyed. What a stroke of luck! Food falling from the sky!
One of the crow’s wings was withered and broken. It was not dead yet, but it could not survive much longer. It was trying to push its head forward, but did not have sufficient strength in its fragile neck, and was producing weak little whimpers. Flame pounced and, without stopping to remove the feathers, stuffed the whole crow into her mouth, chewed vigorously, and gulped it down impatiently. As the bird began to fill her stomach, the gnawing pain of hunger began to subside. What a shame that this was not a full-size crow, just an ordinary winter crow. These are naturally a bit on the small side; an adult winter crow is no bigger than a rock pigeon. What had fallen was a small yellow-beaked crow, half the size of an adult, weighing no more than a hundred and fifty grams including bones, feathers and meat. It was nowhere near enough to fill her belly, barely enough to fill the gaps between her teeth. Although her hunger subsided for a while, she was still a long way from having a belly full of food. She was so hungry she would need at least ten young crows to fill her up.
It’s quite common in the woods to find little fledglings that can’t fly falling out of trees. Sometimes, when young birds that are half-adult-size are playing on the branches, one will lose its footing and fall. A sturdy almost-adult bird will bully a smaller weaker one, and peck at it, forcing it to climb out of the nest. If the wind blows, it won’t be able to stand up, and it will fall off the branch. Sometimes a young bird will fall ill, and the parent will push it out of the nest for fear of infecting the others in the brood. If the parent is out hunting and something untoward happens, the hungry young birds will get anxious that the parent hasn’t returned, and will climb out of the nest to look for food, but they are faint with hunger and before they can take a couple of steps they fall from the tree.
Flame sat on her haunches below the tree, and looked up longingly at the crow’s nest, which came in and out of view with the movement of the leaves high up in the tree. She was hoping that another crow would fall, like ripe fruit falling from a tree. She waited until the leaden grey of the evening mist covered the valley, and her stomach started rumbling again, but no more crows fell from the tree. It was a blustery snowy night, and Flame was shivering from the cold. If she carried on waiting, it wouldn’t be a case of her not eating crows, it would be a case of the crows eating her. Clearly, nothing was going to happen, so with a heavy heart she set off home.
It was almost dark by t
he time Flame reached Buddha Belly Cave. The weather had been awful the last few days, and it had been so difficult to find food. In fooling those scheming foxes by eating the snow she had left her belly feeling stretched and sore. It was hard to summon up any strength in her weak body. This made it even harder to hunt. She would fear for her life if this hunger continued. She would need emergency supplies.
Sweetie had grown a lot by now, and Flame could probably make her last three days. The meat on Sweetie would be young and tender, and would melt in the mouth. Even in normal circumstances she would be top quality meat; in famine time she would be a lifesaver! All the way home she drooled over these thoughts, hunger growing inside her. She couldn’t wait to bound into the cave and gobble up the little pup, eat her fill of rich, fragrant wolf meat, washed down with thick, warm wolf blood.
But no sooner had she bounded into Buddha Belly Cave than Sweetie came rushing out from behind the stones, and threw herself at Flame, oohing and ahhing with delight. Flame was unable to brush her off or push her away. The pup was licking her and smothering her with kisses, as if to say she’d missed her and had been waiting for her, anxious for her safety.
Flame knew that since she set out that morning, the pup had been waiting for her in the cave, looking forward to her safe return. She had not returned that afternoon, or that evening, and the pup had felt her heart burning with anxiety, her eyes straining to see her. So when she heard Flame’s footsteps, she was so excited she leapt to greet her with unrestrained enthusiasm. The little thing certainly had feelings! And Sweetie’s infectious enthusiasm filled the cave with the warmth of a sunny spring day.
As Flame warmed up, all thoughts of supping wolf blood and tasting wolf meat simply vanished. Somehow the feeling of hunger mysteriously dwindled until it barely registered. Instead of going for Sweetie’s throat, Flame pulled the pup closer to her chest and encouraged her to suckle. Flame hadn’t eaten for two days, and there was not much milk. It flowed slowly, and although Sweetie clung there for an age, she could barely get half a belly full.
It was dark now. Sweetie had fallen asleep with her head in the crook of Flame’s leg. She made a few leisurely stretches, then fell asleep.
A gust of cold air blasted through the cave. A shiver ran through Flame’s body, and as her head gradually cleared from her dozy stupor, the feeling of hunger rushed through her again. What a fool she was! She’d been standing outside Buddha Belly Cave, wondering how to kill the pup, then the moment she stepped inside, her brain had gone soft and her plans just vanished into thin air.
Even more ridiculous, instead of eating the pup, she’d fed it her milk! She was such an idiot! Sweetie was the orphan of her enemy; the enemy that had killed her pups. She deserved to die. Flame had let her live so that she’d have something to eat when there was no food available in the winter. She had fed her up, ready for later. It was a perfectly normal thing to do. She was a jackal, a bird-and-beast-eating carnivore. In order to survive in this world, she could not avoid hunting and killing small animals. In fact, she’d killed countless small antelopes, snow hares, pheasants, rats and wild cats before, and had never had any problems doing so.
Whichever way you look at it, carnivores can’t survive unless other living creatures die. She didn’t have a moral problem with eating Sweetie, and there shouldn’t have been an emotional one either, as she had every reason to want to kill her. She certainly wasn’t raising this orphaned pup as an act of charity.
There was a very important reason why she had let Sweetie live so long, and that was because she was a new mother and she was lactating. Her milk was flowing thick and fast, and if she didn’t suckle and release it, her swollen teats became unbearably painful. But the situation was changing. Her biological clock was saying her feeding days were coming to an end, her milk was drying up, and her teats no longer swelled so painfully. There was no longer any reason to let Sweetie live. She was a jackal, it was in her nature to kill. The grey wolf had killed her little pups, so she had every reason to kill Sweetie.
Oh heaven, what am I doing? thought Flame. The wolf got my pups, it’s only right that I should get her pup. That wolf pup is Sweetie. So it would be normal for me to kill her and eat her. Flame ran through the argument in her head, as she tried to steel herself.
But tender feelings kept creeping into her mind and she couldn’t chase them away. She licked the back of Sweetie’s neck. If she were to bite it in half at the speed of lightning, the little creature would slip straight from her daydreaming into the big sleep. She wouldn’t feel a thing. That would be the kindest way of doing it. The little creature had suckled and drunk her milk for over a month, and Flame couldn’t bear the thought that she might feel any pain before she died.
She opened her mouth, and gently took the back of Sweetie’s neck between her teeth. She closed her eyes and prepared to snap her jaws quickly together. But she couldn’t do it. Some large formless force kept holding her back. The little creature purred in her sleep, and curled up a little bit tighter to keep warm. Instinctively, Flame curled up too, wrapping her body snugly around the little creature.
The impulse to kill had evaporated like steam. Flame sighed, let the pup slip from between her teeth, and with a gentle lick, smoothed the fur on the back of Sweetie’s neck.
When mammals are suckling their young, it is not just a time for feeding but also a time for bonding. When pups snuggle up, they form a close tie with the mother. And even if they are not related by blood, the bond can still be as close as between mother and child.
Although the milk was drying up, the pup was still suckling, and was still not big enough or fat enough.
It would be a shame to kill her now, thought Flame. Let her grow a bit more, until she’s about half-adult size. It will be worth the wait.
In any case, the pup was already hers – like a bird in a cage or a goldfish in a bowl – she wasn’t going anywhere. She could kill her when she wanted to eat her. There was no hurry.
Chapter 5
In the middle of the night the wind and the snow subsided. Flame heard an owl hooting on the mountain ridge opposite. The wolf-pup was fast asleep now, grinding her teeth and making strange noises in her sleep.
Flame rose quietly, stepped out of Buddha Belly Cave and stared at the snow-covered mountain. She was so hungry. There had been a new snowfall and it probably wouldn’t be clear by tomorrow. She couldn’t bring herself to kill the pup, and she was determined not to starve to death in the cave. There was only one solution: she would have to risk stealing a chicken from a neighbouring farm.
Flame followed the river gorge, crossed the snowy mountains and waded through the Guna River, until she came to the village of Doufuying, with its straw-thatched buildings. Flame had been here many times before, to measure up the place. She knew there were cows, horses, sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks and geese, all of which would make a grown jackal drool at the mouth. None of these animals could move fast: the four-legged ones could not run, the feathered ones could not fly. Given the chance, a jackal could easily catch any one of them. But Flame had only ever seen the village from a distance, and had never actually gone into the village and taken anything before. Although the animals there were big and fat, slow and clumsy, she knew that the two-legged humans would be the most difficult to deal with. They had bows and arrows and shotguns that would give even the wildest tiger the jitters. Worse still, every house in the village had a dog, and these guarded the cowsheds, stables, sheep pens, pigsties, hen huts, duck houses and goose coops. These terrifying dogs had the most remarkable sense of sight, hearing and smell. If they sensed anything untoward they would bark out loud to alert their owners, who would come rushing out of the thatched buildings clutching their bows and arrows and shotguns, ready to chase the hunters, or drive them out, or surround them. Flame had seen with her own eyes how a leopard had suffered at the hands of these men and their dogs.
It had happened on another snowy, blustery day like today. She had gone out hunting
and was just passing Doufuying when she spotted the leopard creeping stealthily up the drainage ditch towards the village. From its teeth, Flame reckoned the leopard was about ten years old. Its coat was a bit scruffy-looking, and the fur on its head and face was already grey. It was old and weak, and looked as though it had been unable to find any food in the wild, so had come to the village to try its luck. Curious, and hoping for a share of any scraps that the leopard might leave behind, Flame had followed it at a safe distance. The leopard had climbed out of the ditch, crept into the village and found a pen full of fat pigs. It pawed and gnawed at the wattle fence, trying to make a hole to crawl through. Although the leopard was careful, it couldn’t help making a scratching noise. Woken from their sweet dreams, the fat pigs opened their bleary eyes, and started squealing and grunting. Within seconds, two dogs rushed out from under the eaves of a thatched house and ran towards the pigsty. They found the leopard hiding in the ditch, and began to bark like mad. All the other dogs in the village barked back and quickly joined up to surround the leopard. The leopard wanted to run, but it was too late. Seven or eight dogs blocked the way on one side, and a pack of dogs blocked the other side. Although leopards are small, they have sharp claws and teeth. But this one was hopelessly outnumbered. With twenty or thirty dogs coming after it, there was nowhere it could escape to, except the brick kiln at the edge of the village. The dogs blocked its exit, and made a huge racket. The lights went on in the thatched houses, and people headed towards the brick kiln, brandishing torches and rifles. The noses of five or six rifles reached into the kiln. A strong man with a goatee beard gave the order to shoot, and a thunder of bullets ripped through the air, making everything shudder, creating a thick cloud of smoke in the kiln. The leopard screamed in agony, its face covered in blood, its skull half torn apart, its body charred a shiny black by the smoke. The multi-coloured leopard was now a black cat. The dogs swarmed up to the door; they wanted to deal with it once and for all. Flame hid in the dark, but could see everything clearly, terrified out of her mind.